


I hope you have a speech prepared.

by stormthedarkcity



Series: Fictober 2018 [20]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2020-10-04 08:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: Iyandrar Lavellan would rather avoid the spotlights.





	I hope you have a speech prepared.

The fight was efficient. Iyandrar was starting to find his footing, to know how the others fought. Varric always kept an eye on his back, and Cassandra was best in the thick of it. Strong, loud and bloody. Solas was skilled too, though Iyandrar couldn’t quite tell where his technique came from.

Once the rift was closed, they headed back down the hill towards the small, deserted village they’d passed on the way in.

Except it wasn’t deserted now. All the previously locked doors were thrown open, people pouring out of the houses, parents clutching their children tightly. The bolder youths were scattered around, armed with rudimentary weapons that they stopped brandishing upon seeing them return. They were waiting for them, Iyandrar realised. Hoping for their return, fearing it wouldn’t happen. And all of their attention was on him. On his hand, glowing bright in the falling light of dusk.

“I hope you have a speech prepared,” Varric said in a low voice.

Iyandrar whined. “I hate this.”

Varric sympathetically bumped his shoulder against him. “I know, Lavellan, I know.”

In the village, a chorus of thanks and payers rose. Iyandrar winced. “Do you think they’ll ever let it down? The Herald thing.”

“Ah, ‘course they will!” Varric shrugged. “They always find something newer and shinier to rely on. But right now, you’re the newest and shiniest thing around.”

Iyandrar searched his memory. He vaguely remembered Cassandra mentioning a friend of his... The Champion, or something? A commoner becoming a symbol for the people over a few fights. “Like your friend," he noted.

“Hawke?” Varric asked.

“Yes. I’ve heard they became quite the phenomenon.”

Varric laughed. “Got a statue and all.”

“How did they escape the attention?”

“Err...” Varric shook his head. “Got tangled up in a war and disappeared into thin air?”

Iyandrar nodded to himself. “Uh. You know what, it might get tempting.”

Behind them, Cassandra made a disapproving noise.

“Lavellan’s only joking, Seeker!” Varric assured. “He would _never_ pull a Hawke.”

Iyandrar turned to her and put on his most innocent smile. “Never.”

Cassandra looked unconvinced. She squinted at them, which was far funnier than it was threatening.

The voices from the village were getting sharper. “Praise Andraste!” one of them shouted. Iyandrar turned back. Children were now running free, some towards them, some still cowering behind their mothers. Quite a few villagers were hugging, holding onto each other in relief.

“Herald!” another voice followed, coming from an old man.

“It’s the Maker who sent you!”

Iyandrar turned to Varric, raising his hand to hide his face in a mock adjustment of his hair. He grimaced at Varric, who laughed sympathetically. “Come on now, you’ll be fine. Go talk to them.”


End file.
